


Like Stalks in the Ground

by SocialDeception



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: (Past) Child Abuse, (Past) Incest, All around a pleasant read, Anal Sex, Canonical Character Death, Eddie's a serial killer, F/M, M/M, Murder, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rimming, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, lots of slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-06 04:20:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11028522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SocialDeception/pseuds/SocialDeception
Summary: It starts as an itch.Just a small, little itchy feeling in the back of his head. Gentle, at first, just a small nudge. It will get insistent later, he knows. Insistent and persistent and all-consuming. And then it will turn into pain soon after, a throbbing, intense pain right behind his eyes. He’ll need to fill that void. Feed the hunger. Feed that thing inside of him that won’t seem to leave him alone.And then Eddie drives through the city, like a predator hunting for prey.





	1. Eliza

**Author's Note:**

> A warm thanks to [Peachycans](http://archiveofourown.org/users/peachycans/pseuds/peachycans) and [Hammy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Hammocker/pseuds/Hammocker) for reading this over and holding my hand through the anxiety.

* * *

  
It starts as an itch.

Just a small, little itchy feeling in the back of his head. Gentle, at first, just a small nudge. It will get insistent later, he knows. Insistent and persistent and all-consuming. And then it will turn into pain soon after, a throbbing, intense pain right behind his eyes. He’ll need to fill that void. Feed the hunger. Feed that thing inside of him that won’t seem to leave him alone. But he doesn’t mind. There’s plenty of time, and plenty of opportunity. For now. Because Eddie doesn’t know it, but in a few short months he’ll get captured. He’ll slip up on one detail or another, and the police will be on his trail. No, Eddie doesn’t know that he’ll be put away for his crimes. And he certainly doesn’t know what horrors he’ll perform while incarcerated at Mount Massive. At the moment Eddie is blissfully ignorant as he crosses the floor of his small apartment and stares out the window, out at the world outside. 

It’s a bleak view, distant and grey, but it’s better than where he grew up. Here there’s a city skyline, dank streets and people. Before there was nothing but empty corn-fields. His father kept saying it was the grain of the future, but he had finally just left the stalks rotting in the ground. Corn wasn’t the grain of the future for him, he’d turned to hops and barley instead.

Eddie shakes his head, doesn’t want to think of his father or the putrid smell of the cornfields, or worse than all- He cuts the thought there, and trails a hand across the cool glass instead. The sudden cold is like a shock to his system, before it slowly numbs his fingertips. For a second it’s almost enough to quell the itch, but only for a fleeting moment and then that itch is back.

He studies the people outside more carefully. It must be some holiday of sorts either coming up or ending, because he can see people hurrying past with bags filled with food and, perhaps, gifts.  
It doesn’t really matter. What matters is the women. Tall, short, thin, fat. His gaze devours all of them. Blonde flowy locks, dark tresses, round faces, curved lips. He doesn’t know it, but his fingers curls like claws against the glass. The dew and frost disappear around his hand, making a halo of sorts. The religious imagery would have amused him, had he realized.

If he concentrates, he can almost smell them. He likes the smell of them. Likes the _feel_ of them, the thought of dainty hands massaging perfumed lotion into soft skin. His own hands are big and rough. More than anything he likes the feel of those dainty little hands in his. He shudders a little. Maybe he can stop the itch for just a little while, put those big hands on his own heated flesh instead.

It would be better, but he doesn’t. Not yet. So instead he stands tall by the window and stares. It’s part of the thrill, just looking. Looking. Dreaming. Imagining. He’ll have to make plans, soon, but for now the looking quells the itch. Quells or fuels, maybe it’s both of them, but maybe it doesn’t matter. It’s not like he has the capacity to stop it, or the _want_ to stop it. He is right where he needs to be.

The world outside bleaks further, the grey turning blue with twilight, and he presses his forehead to the glass, watching the wet streets reflecting every time a car drives past. The light shines over them, illuminating every single thing he loves. Soft hair, soft curves, soft skin. All so soft and pliable and- A sound interrupts his thoughts, until he realizes it’s coming from the depths of his chest; A low, rumbling growl. Embarrassed he pulls away from the window, paces, before he finally sits down in the chair by the empty fireplace. The room is cold, but he doesn’t notice, because Eddie is hot and wanting. He’s sweating, and he presses his back against the chair, body hard and rigid. The blood in his veins is rushing. He’ll have to do this soon. Satisfy the itch and the cravings and the dark voice in the back of his head that instructs and commands and expects. Who is Eddie to turn that down?

He rubs his hands together, absent-mindedly, and dreams.

It’s easy enough, getting one. Eddie is big and strong, handsome in the right lighting, and even if he isn’t as suave as he wishes to be, he can be persuasive when he wants to be. Eloquent, even, no matter what his father said. No, getting one will be easy.

What’s tricky is the aftermath, but Eddie’s got practice.

He leaves it at that, for now, putting his hands on himself instead. He does it like he does the planning, soft, gentle, until it’s too much and he speeds up, growling. Thoughts spur from kindness, making love to a woman the way you should, to cruelty. He imagines his hands digging into soft flesh, that exact moment where they realize what he’s doing and what will inevitably happen. He loves that look, when someone finally, _finally_ , sees him for who he is. He comes with a groan, his release spurting between his fingers, and for a fleeting moment he imagines it to be blood.  
  


* * *

  
No matter what other needs Eddie has, he still has to eat, even if the food is tasteless during the periods of bloodlust. He leaves at dusk the following evening, waiting right up to the moment where the sun has dipped below the horizon so he can venture out into the real world, without having to interact with a whole lot of people. Sometimes he can’t get enough of them, but doing so while the itch is so persistent is too risky. He imagines they can see straight through him. For anyone out there to truly see him would be disastrous. But at the same time he can’t stop thinking that it would be nice, feeling like a part of the world, and not so disconnected from it all. But no matter.

It’s only a couple of blocks to the nearest grocery store; A small Italian deli run by an old widow named Mrs. Lucciano. It’s more expensive here than the local chains, but quieter. And none of the fancy chains has anyone like Mrs. Lucciano working there. She’s nothing at all like Eddie’s own mother, but something about her is motherly just the same. Eddie likes her, and she seems to like him back. Even if she does call him _Edoardo_ , after her late husband. It doesn’t hurt his head talking to her, and he usually chats with her before taking his groceries home.

Eddie’s always liked pleasing people, that’s been the confusing thing all along. He’ll be polite and kind, saying what he expects they want him to say one minute, then hunt them down like game the next. He even wanted to appease his father, wanted so badly for his father to be proud of him, to accept him. Eddie curls his fists up and feels a slight cold sweat break out on his back.

That’s another thing. When the voice is loud enough, it always takes the form of his father. Sometimes he wonders if it’s just another way to blame his father for all the things he did, and all the things Eddie are doing wrong. Nevermind the fact that when Eddie’s done, when he’s performed what the voice commands, then it will take on the voice of his mother. She will whisper soothing and gentle nothings to him, like she’d do when he was a child. But he’ll never say a bad word about her, because to him, she is a saint. Even if she never- Eddie shakes his head and grits his teeth. Instead of focusing on the bad things, he thinks about his mother stroking his head and telling him of brave knights and three-headed dragons.

With another shake of his head to clear his thoughts, Eddie enters through the side-door to the Italian deli, and grabs a basket. Nothing really sounds appetizing, so he grabs a few things at random; A loaf of crusty bread, some cans of soup and Italian sausage. He’ll probably have to go back soon, but hopefully it’ll all be over by then.

“Ah, Edoardo!” Mrs. Lucciano exclaims, and takes his hands in hers. Her skin is as fragile as paper and almost translucent, and Eddie pats her hand gently in return. Despite her short stature, she’s never shown any discomfort around Eddie’s towering height and bulk, instead her watery eyes are lit up in excitement, and Eddie chats with her about his day.

She thinks he is married, with two sons, and Eddie hasn’t ever had the heart to correct her. He likes the daydream as much as she does, he suppose, and he tells her of trips to the park and his wife’s cooking. Maybe Mrs. Lucciano is as far gone as he is, because she never questions his stories, not even when he very clearly always shops for one.

He doesn’t even pay attention to the conversation, but his tongue finds the words and the lies, while his mind wanders to yielding flesh and that sickly sweet scent of corn he never seem able to escape.

And just like that minutes and hours disappears, and he’s suddenly back on the streets without recollection on how he got there. If not for the shopping bags in his hands, he might think he imagined the whole thing. He feels lighter though, and even if he doesn’t remember talking to Mrs. Lucciano, his body seems to. Perhaps it’s like muscle memory.

At least his apartment isn’t far, and he quietly walks back, ignoring the calls from the hookers in the streets. The inheritance after his father hadn’t been large, but just enough for Eddie to buy the small, one bedroom apartment. He had spent a good while wondering if he should just burn the money, but need won over pride. His father probably wouldn’t have approved of the place anyway.

A male prostitute whistles after him, and when Eddie turns, the whore smiles and winks at him. Eddie’s fists clenches, but he turns without a word. Abominations, the lot of them, the men especially. You can’t expect much more from the women, but the men should know better than to offer themselves up as cheap cuts of meat to random strangers.

He walks faster after that, longing from the silence in his apartment. It might be deafening and overpowering at times, but it’s better than the white noise of the city.

He quietly unpacks his grocery once back in the safety of his own apartment, meticulously placing the tins with the labels facing out like his mother always did. And when he washes his hands, he pointedly avoids looking at himself in the mirror.

The rest of the evening is spent by the window facing the street. He has a book open in his lap, but he can’t really say what it’s about. For here, no longer hidden by pretenses, is Eddie's biggest secret: He is lonely and he is alone.  
  


* * *

  
He drives through the city.

Maybe it would be easier to just walk, but it’s too risky in the long run. Too risky to circle and keep in his own neighborhood. Besides, he prefers the more upscale places anyway, the women seem softer there. He can’t stand the vulgar shine of the lips in his part of town, the shortness of their skirts, the added inches of cheap shoes. No, he likes them here, classy and dainty, just like a woman is supposed to be. He presses his palm briefly against his own erection and feels his blood rush and thrum. Oh, that itch. How sweet it will be to satisfy that itch.

And then he spots her.

She’s just right and his heart clenches at the sight of her. He can’t see her clearly through the mist of the evening, only that she is beautiful. Her features seem soft, like a water painting, skin of peaches and cream, lips and cheeks pink in the cold. Her hair is perhaps a too dull shade of sandy blonde, but the damp hair in the back of her neck curls delightfully. Oh, she will be perfect. What isn’t perfect now, he’ll make perfect later.

He parks his car the first chance he gets, but his eyes doesn’t leave her. She hasn’t noticed him yet, but he’s sure she will. They always do.

He straightens his back once he’s out of his car, slicking his hair back with practiced ease. It’s the perfect time for this, right before dusk on a crowded Friday night, and he weaves in and out of the crowd with his eyes trained on her.

She has a certain sway of her hips as she walks, perhaps an added effect of her heels. They are too tall for his tastes, he’d prefers petite kitten heels, like his mother would wear. She would sit in front of the mirror every Sunday morning, putting lipstick, oh, so carefully on the curve of her upper lip. Not bright red like the whores outside Eddie’s window, no, she wore a muted, dusty pink. A color you could wear to church, she told him, along with her modest pumps and sensible skirt.

She had taught him her trade, carefully, in the small hours where her husband, Eddie’s father, was out in the field or in a bar somewhere. Probably in some other woman’s bed as well, although his mother never voiced her suspicions out loud. It wasn’t until Eddie was much older that he realized where his father probably spent his weekends, coming home with lipstick on his collar. Not his mother’s dusty pink, but fire engine red.

Once or twice he had caught his mother whispering curses in their small study, where she would sit and mend clothing until her spine curved with the strain of keeping the family fed and clothed. ‘Whores,’ she’d whisper. ‘Sluts.’ It had shocked young Eddie beyond measure, hearing such words spill from her lips. To him she was the world, the ideal, everything a woman should be and aspire to become. She would dry her eyes when she noticed his presence, and she would curl her small fingers in his hair, stroking his head while she worked the sewing machine.

He still remembered the feel of her stockings under his fingertips, soft and rough at the same time. Forbidden. He wasn’t allowed to touch her like that, but he’d dare to stroke her ankle when she was busy applying her makeup.

Eddie is willing to bet that this woman, his darling, the one walking just out of reach, will be the same as his mother. Sensible, not at all like the whores and the degenerates of the city. An old-fashioned girl to fit his own old-fashioned ideals. Oh, how he will love dressing her up in his favorite style of clothing; A-line skirts in heavy fabrics, a fullness achieved by tulle and lace, soft blouses with modest necklines. Stockings with seams and kitten heels. He’ll dress her up like a doll, worship her, adore her.

The itch is almost gone, muted, stuck in the background while Eddie is stuck in his fantasies.

The Woman - Eddie capitalizes the word in his head - takes a turn left on a less crowded street. Eddie fingers the leather in his pocket, it’s a simple plan, really, but effective. One he’s tried before. It’s vulgar, using the same method of seduction as with someone else, but he is certain she will forgive him.

She’s walking faster, it’s getting dark and the side street is almost empty.

“Excuse me, miss?” Eddie’s voice is dark and deep, but he gently manipulates it to sound friendlier, and she freezes in front of him for a moment before turning.

Oh, she is beautiful.

Right now she looks like a cornered animal, eyes wide and surprised, and he walks slowly towards her, coaxing his smile to one that is less wide and predatory.

“I think you dropped something,” he says quietly, and extends his hand to hers, a small and soft leather glove in the palm of his hand.

She relaxes when she realizes he had a reason to call for her, her expression softening in gentle confusion as she looks at the small glove in his hand.

"I'm afraid that isn't mine," she says, and Eddie preens at the sound of her voice. It is like a bell; clear and pure and beautiful, like church on Sundays and warm summer evenings.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he says, and laughs in that self-deprecating way he knows women like. “I could have sworn I saw you drop it, but the light must have played a trick on me.”

She studies him with interest, looks at his face and his broad shoulders, and Eddie knows he’s won.

“It seemed to match your outfit,” he murmurs, and he knows he isn’t imagining the slight flush in her cheeks. Exquisite. So very exquisite. “You are a very beautiful woman.”

There is a fine line between being a gentleman and a creep, and Eddie knows he’s skirting right on the edge. But then she laughs, her laugh as clear as her voice, and her blush deepens. Before she has the chance to say anything, he bows, eyes upturned to hers right before he straightens back up.

“I hope you have a nice evening,” he says, and this time he keeps his voice purposefully husky before he turns to leave.

Always leave them wanting more. That is what Eddie lives by, and he is smirking when he walks away, counting slowly to himself. He doesn’t even reach five before he hears her heels on the pavement as she walking briskly to catch up to him.

“Excuse me,” she says, and that delicious, maddening blush is still on her face when Eddie turns to her.

“Yes?” He smiles, his tone inquisitive, but not intruding and she fidgets a little.

“There’s a great little coffee place near here, I was wondering…?” She lets her voice trail off, and her gaze flickers to the ground before she looks at him again.

“Of course,” Eddie says, and smiles.  
  


* * *

  
Her name is Eliza, visiting her older sister for Christmas, and she doesn’t know the city at all. They drive towards Eddie’s apartment, his heart thrumming painfully in his chest, that voice singing in his head.

She seems shy, her eyes drifts away when he catches her looking at him. He likes that in a woman. He likes making nice girls squirm. You can’t get the whores and the sluts squirming, that much he knows.

He doesn’t know what she is thinking when the streets get narrower and dirtier, or the people go from busy people with suitcases to dealers and whores littering the corners.

“It wasn’t always a bad neighborhood,” he explains, and she nods. “I’m looking for a new place, but it’s a sad thing to see. I grew up here, with my mother, and it used to be so beautiful.”

It’s a lie. This place was always a dump.

“It’s sad when that happens,” she says meekly, and Eddie’s reminded of what a good girl she is.

He parks in silence, and they walk in silence. His apartment building is as shoddy as the neighborhood; a crumbling old thing. At least his apartment is nice, and he can see the change in her, her shoulders lowering, when she takes it in. Eddie’s mother told him to always keep his living space pristine, because appearances is everything. She was right. She was always right.

“Oh, this is beautiful,” she exclaims, and walks into his living room to the dress dummy he keeps in a corner. The dress he is working on _is_ beautiful, he knows, but he still smiles at her compliment.

“Thank you. I bet you would look lovely in it.”

She turns to him, eyes glittering in the muted light, and her smile is so sincere he almost regrets bringing her here.

Almost.

He takes a step towards her, and her smile wavers, just a fraction.

“I’m sorry,” she says, laughing and turning her face away from his. “I don’t normally do this.”

“Me neither,” Eddie whispers, and she doesn’t move away when he walks up to her and brushes his fingers against her arm. “But you are so very beautiful.”

In this light she reminds him of his mother. Soft and warm and gentle and inviting. Her lips are parted slightly, and she looks up at him through her lashes. She’s so small compared to him, the top of her head reaching no further than his chest and he loves how strong it makes him feel.

A defense mechanism, a therapist had told him once before Eddie had the good sense to leave, like the only reason he had for being strong was to protect himself against his father. The thought is ludicrous. The thought has him curl his fingers a little too tightly around her arm, and her smiles wavers and dies.

“Can I get you anything?” he asks softly before she has the chance to be afraid, and she relaxes against his hold.

“I don’t know, can you?” She asks wickedly, and he chuckles at her forwardness. It’s not a good trait, but he’ll allow it this once.

“What do you want me to give you?” His voice drops in pitch, and he leans into her and let trembling hands slide down the gentle curve of her spine. Soft. She’s so soft and beautiful. Perfect.

Her small hands reach for his chest, and her fingers bury themselves in the fabric of his shirt as she pulls him closer.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs against her lips before he devours them, his heart thrumming at the small sound she makes as he does.

Her lips are as sweet as her words, as her figure, as the tone of voice and cut of her dress. Beautiful. All of her beautiful.

Her fingers struggles with the buttons on Eddie’s clothing, and she finally gives up and moves them under the hem of his shirt instead, her fingers soft against his naked skin. She’s very forward, Eddie thinks, and something dark coils in his stomach.

“Such a _minx_ ,” he hisses, and she moans softly against his lips.

He pulls apart a mere inch, and deftly unbuttons her coat, letting it fall to the floor behind her. He studies her intently, until she fidgets under his intense gaze. Her dress is perhaps - Eddie’s eyes narrows as he studies it. The cut is too low, her breasts heaving for each breath she takes. They are too large, vulgar even, not at all fitting for a wife and a mother, and he almost feels sick as he reaches for them. He feels a bit like a fumbling teenager when he presses them against her chest, feels them fill the palm of his hand and overflow, and to cover it he leans down to her neck so he can kiss the skin there.

She moans, and Eddie moves his hands to her hips. Much better. She has wide, child-bearing hips, and he sculpts his hands to them with a groan. Yes, she is perfect here, and he moves his hand to the gentle swell of her stomach. She tries to squirm out of his hold, but he keeps her there. Oh, how he wants her to have his babies, to feel that belly swell further with his seed.

She says something, but he ignores it, continuing his exploration of her body instead.

“It’s Christmas,” he murmurs, remembering their conversation from before. “And you remind me of the finest confectionery. All I want to do is to unwrap you and devour you.”

She shudders under him, but melts into his touch when he lifts her up. He carries her to his bedroom, bridal style, and her mouth doesn’t leave his as he does.

She looks beautiful on his bed. Just right. She’s a little scared, he can tell, but her legs fall open when he positions himself between them. He puts his hands on her ankles, like he did his mother, and slides them up her legs. She’s so smooth, and warm, and soft. He moves his hands under her skirt, and pulls her underwear off.

He leans down, nipping gently at her inner thigh with his teeth, and he marvels at the soft sound she makes when he does. He takes his time, kissing her skin as he moves up. He wraps a hand around her hip and positions it across her pubic bone. She’s panting now, her legs trembling against his shoulders and he purposefully breathes against her pussy.

When he finally leans down and makes a tentative lick, she bucks against him and makes a strangled little sound. He brings his free hand up to her, and rubs his fingers over her heated flesh. She’s so wet it’s almost obscene, and he slides into her with little resistance.

She clenches around him, and he resumes his licking. He likes this part. His mother always taught him the importance of taking care of his woman, and he tongues her pussy with a groan.

“What’s your name again?” she pants, and it’s not at all what he wants to hear.

"Eddie," he murmurs against her, and she gives a breathy exhale that might be a laugh, Eddie can't tell.

“You’re very skilled, Eddie,” she moans.

He moves his fingers in her, first one, then two, and intensifies his licking. She’s moving under him, and his ego inflates further when she climaxes far quicker than he ever imagined possible. He pulls out of her and wipes the back of his hand across his chin with a smirk. Her hair is fanned across his pillow, skin flushed by her orgasm. Her lips are red, too red, but it’s probably the heat of the moment.

He slowly unbuttons his shirt, eyes not leaving hers, and when he sheds it her eyes widen. She clearly appreciates the sight of him, and he allows her to put her hands on him, allows her to open his slacks and pull them down to his thighs. She palms his heavy erection, and before he has the chance to stop her, she leans down and mouths at the fabric.

He feels sick, and he has to shut his eyes tightly to avoid dry-heaving.

“No, don’t,” he says, a little too harshly, and at her startled and questioning look, he continues in a softer voice. “I’d rather make this about you.”

Truth is that he’d rather cut it off than allow anyone to suck it. He can still recall the- No, he cuts himself off again. At least she does not question this, but makes soft little sounds as he pulls her dress off. She’s so soft. He leans down, far enough to rub his erection against her, and he meets her lips in another kiss.

It’s different, this kiss, though Eddie can’t really say why. Something about the taste of her, and his scalp tightens because he can’t say what it is, only that something is terribly wrong.

Like his fingers, his cock slides into her without much resistance, and she groans beneath him. The sound is all wrong too, not soft and clear, but vulgar.

“You’ll make such a beautiful mother,” he says to comfort himself. They haven’t done this in the right order, but perhaps it’s still salvageable.

She sputters something, and squirms even more, but he ignores her, lost in the movements of his hips and the softness of her insides.

Her fingers grasp his forearms, her nails digging in, and Eddie shuts his eyes tighter. This reminds him of something else. Some other bed and other fingers, and he tries to fuck her harder, though his cock is wilting fast.

He kisses her again, and something is definitely wrong now. She tastes like ashes, like death, like rotting corn stalks in the ground, and he opens his eyes with a start.

She is staring right back at him, pale eyes opened wide. She isn’t dead - not yet - but there’s something dead there either way.

“What’s wrong?” She asks, and her voice sounds distorted somehow, like she is speaking under water. “Why aren’t you-”

He doesn’t let her finish that question, it would kill him if she did, and as his softening cock slips out of her, he wraps his powerful hands around her slender little neck.

And there it is. There’s that look. She knows him now, more intimately than anyone else, and Eddie savors the moment as it will be gone too fast.

She doesn’t scream right away. They usually don’t. Too surprised to do anything but gape like a fish out of water. Her lipstick is so red, he wonders how he didn’t see it before. It’s like a bleeding wound in her face, and he wants to stuff that hole with his fists.

“You _slut_ ,” he hisses, his fingers digging into her jugular. She won’t get the chance to scream, not anymore, because Eddie is crushing her trachea and he leans closer to her to watch the blood vessels in her eyes pop.

She’s less threatening now, and he feels himself hardening when she raises her hands up and digs her fingernails into his forearms. Good girl, but it’s far too late now. She’s already getting weak, and even though she manages to break the skin, it’s not too bad. Now some of these whores, before Eddie got good at what he’s doing, some of them would hurt him bad before he shut them up.

He always managed to shut them up, though, in the end.

She flails helplessly for just a moment, her eyes bulging, before she makes a strange, crackling sound in the back of her throat. Then she goes slack in his hold, her eyes drifting out of focus and glazing over.

He doesn’t let go.

Instead he wrings his hands around her neck like he is wringing water out of a damp towel. Her body is entirely limp, like a doll. He enjoys that. Enjoys the lack of struggle. Enjoys how she is finally silent and finally able to comply and submit.

He lets go of her, and wipes the back of his hand across his mouth. He’s surprised to feel himself grinning, but the surprise doesn’t stick. Instead he puts his arms under her knees and shoulders, and hoists her up into his arms. She’s heavier in death, as most are, but he doesn’t struggle with her as he carries her through his apartment and into the bathroom where he dumps her into the bathtub. Her head lolls on a neck that’s broken, and hits the edge of the tub with a sound that reminds Eddie of a boiled egg on a counter top.

He isn’t careful with her. Not anymore. Not until she’s perfect.

First is the breasts. It’s difficult, cutting around the globs of fat and still get it even, but he manages somehow. His stitching isn’t as neat as he would have liked, but it keeps getting better. Stitching human flesh is different than stitching fabric. Skin is too yielding and seems to want to spread apart no matter how tight he makes the suture. He disposes of the discarded chunks of flesh in the trashcan, before looking back down at her body.

Mmm, close now. She looks a bit- Eddie bites his lower lip with a frown. With nothing to hold her flesh together, she’s starting to look almost splotchy around the edges. Like half-melted jello, and Eddie doesn’t like it. The headache is back, and with an absent mind he rubs his thumb and forefinger down his temple, leaving a long stripe of blood on his face.

Oh, how he wants to impregnate her. To watch her belly get round with his child. His child. The thought makes something inside him swell painfully. He’s fully hard again, but he doesn’t want to degrade any of them in that manner. No, he’ll find another way.  
  


* * *

  
The stitching across her lower abdomen and her breasts are unsightly against her pale skin, and Eddie frowns at them as he washes her body carefully, removing all traces of the two of them.

Her eyes are unfocused and dry-looking in death, but it still feels like she’s looking right at him. Or right through him. It’s unsettling, her eyes swinish and judgmental.

He dries her off quickly, and positions her on the edge of the sink. He keeps a hamper of fresh clothes in the cupboard under the sink specifically for this occasion, and he pulls it out while he’s humming distantly to himself.

First it’s the underwear, and he’s happy to see that one of the brassieres he’s made fits her perfectly now. The panties are a little tight, but he rather likes the small indent it makes in her soft flesh. The stockings feels just the right mix of rough and silky, and he unrolls it slowly, reverently, over her ankles, up her calves, over the knee and up her thighs. He makes sure the seam is perfectly straight before he clips them on the garter belt.

Despite his earlier wishes, he decides to put her in a dress, and he stares at her after he’s done.

With her face wiped clear of her earlier whorish makeup -now replaced with a soft blush, the smallest hint of mascara and dusty lipstick- she looks demure and beautiful. Just perfect, like she was intended to be all along. She reminds him of his mother, even if her features are a little too harsh and the hair not quite the right shade of golden blonde. If he had the time then he’d bleach it, but he finds he’s far too tired.

Instead he carries her carefully back into his bed, where he will stroke her head with gentle care and whisper sweet nothings in her ear. Then she’ll start to stink up the place and he’ll have to dispose of her.

But he doesn’t want to worry about that now. For now he wants to revel in her sweetness and beauty. For now he wants to revel in the fact that finally, _finally_ , that itch is gone.

Revel in the fact that he’s a little closer to her now.


	2. Waylon

* * *

   
Time passes in jumps and in spurts, until Eddie isn’t sure how much time has passed. He can’t remember all of their faces anymore, all the women lost to his rage. He no longer remembers the police, or the interrogations, but, if he focuses, he can still remember the doctors.

At the moment, though, only one thing is certain; He can’t bear to look at her anymore.

When he lets his gloved hand slide over the exposed flesh there’s that familiar dull throbbing behind his forehead, in that very spot that always plagues him, that makes his eyes feel like they are being forced out of the socket.

“…You slut,” he slurs, without any real malice, just that empty tiredness that inevitably comes after a long day of manic excitement.

He can’t even muster up the strength to string the remnants of the whore in front of him up with the others, instead he leaves the mess behind as he stumbles out the door, pawing uselessly at his ruined eyes.

How many has it been now? He doesn’t dwell on it as he knows it doesn’t matter, and even if it did, he wouldn’t remember it for long.

All he knows is that he doesn’t have the energy to make another offering to what he’s come to consider a shrine for disappointment and loss. He seems to remember something about a cornfield. Maybe that’s where he used to put them, because he’s often plagued by a sickly sweet smell he associates with rotting corn and drying manure. Seems like a much easier time than pulling the ropes around their fat bodies, but at the same time the smell triggers an uncomfortable scratchy feeling in the back of his mind.

He walks awkwardly down the hall, still clutching his eyes. Maybe he just needs to rest. The night has been so awfully long. More than anything he hates that there’s so much he can’t remember. Memories come in flashes, but it’s never enough. They are like dust he can’t seem to catch in his hands, water that flows through his fingers.

He’s so tired.

The hallways are dark, combined with an uncomfortable lingering smell of the whores who’ve walked there in the past, but he knows the way. He hasn’t the energy to be angry about the stench of the whores, just makes his way to a room that used to be an office of sorts. It took him a few weeks, but now it’s like a sanctuary. He found mattresses in an infirmary, and stacked them and covered them with curtains he lovingly stitched together. All for her.

He’s too tired to undress, just falls to the rough sheets, and with a shuddering sigh, he falls asleep.  
  


* * *

  
Eddie dreams, like he always does, and in dreams the memories are both tangible and terrible.

He dreams of that cornfield, of the thick stench of rot and manure. He dreams of running through it, like a maze, like the ones his mother spoke of in the same breath as dragons and bulls. It’s not a dragon or a bull that comes after him, but it’s something equally terrifying.

“Edward!” His father shouts, and young Eddie sweats at the tone of his voice. “Come back here, you little shit!”

Eddie hears his uncle shout too, his voice slurred, and then a short laugh. They are both drunk on cheap beer, and he knows it won’t be pleasant when they catch him. So he runs, even though he knows, oh, he knows, that it will make it so much worse when they inevitably do catch up to him, because they always do. His legs are too short, and his arms are too weak, and he cannot outrun or overpower them.

For a moment it’s deathly still, just the sound of his feet against tightly packed dirt, his harsh breaths panted into the air, and then the world surges back into focus when his father calls out again, but this time so much closer.

Eddie gasps and whimpers, but forces himself forward. Maybe if he can just reach the far edge of the field, where he can slip into the drainage pipe that’s there, then he’ll be safe. He never seems able to reach it, but maybe this time he’ll be able to. Hopes are like dreams, and like memories; There one minute, and gone the next.

He’s almost reached the far end of the neverending row of corn, but it keeps stretching out farther and farther, his father and uncle gaining on him quickly. Dusk falls upon them, and fog creeps out from the shadow. Just another few steps now, just another few steps.

With another whimper he pushes through the final barrier, the dry husks whipping his face, and he sees a woman at the end of the property. It looks like his mother, her arms outstretched for him, and Eddie sobs and calls for her. As soon as he does her face changes, her white dress slowly turning crimson in the dying of the light.

But that does not deter him, he’ll reach her. Oh, this time he will reach her, and this time she will not turn him away.

“Mom!” he calls, even though that means that they will know where he is. “Mom!”

And it must be his mother, because she doesn’t lower her arms or turn away. Eddie feels hope bloom in his chest, and forces himself forward.

Then suddenly, with a loud thump and a crack, he hits something, and he’s on his back in filth before he understands what happened.

In front of him, barely there at all, is a thin sheet of glass. He scrambles up from the dirt and pounds his fists against it. Oh, how helpless the glass makes him feel. He feels trapped inside himself, trapped in a nightmare, trapped within his father’s grasp.

“Help me! Don't let them do this! Don't let them!” Eddie cries, but his mother shows no recognition. He knows she can’t stop his father, no one can. He’s heard the sobs from the bedroom and seen the marks left on his mother’s body the times she did try, but he can’t stop his whimpering prayers. “I know you can stop this! You have to help me! You have to-”

The tiny hairs on the back of his neck raises, and he knows they have caught up to him before he even turn around. Behind him, materializing in the fog, is his father and uncle, his father rubbing the back of his hand across wet, red lips.

“There you are, boy,” he sneers, and Eddie freezes.

“Please,” he begs. “Please.”

But when he turns back to the glass, it’s not his mother anymore. It’s not _anyone_ , anymore. The face is a whirlpool of never-ending features, all swirling together.

“No,” Eddie whispers, because without her, then everything is truly lost.

The features change, from living to dead, from female to male, and maybe if Eddie wasn’t so terrified, he’d recognize some of them. Maybe he’d understand what this dream truly means. But he doesn’t, not even at the sight of a sandy blonde man with eyes that match his own in terror.

“Please.” His voice breaks, and he sinks down until his bony knees hit the soil. “Please.”

“I gotcha,” his father says, and digs his dirty hands into the fabric of Eddie’s shirt. “I finally gotcha, you little _whore_.”  
  


* * *

   
Eddie wakes with a jolt, a fine layer of sweat covering his skin like a straitjacket, and he pants harshly as he looks around the room.

 _It’s empty. It’s empty. There's no one here._ He repeats the words in his mind, mouthing them without a sound.

Parts of the dream stays with him, but he wills it away by pinching his eyes shut until he sees nothing but shadowy figures and shapes behind them. It not much better, but at least it’s not his father. Eddie push himself up and rubs at his eyes. They feel dry and swollen, and he wonders idly if he’s cried. The thought doesn’t linger, and he smooths his hair back with both hands. He’s tired. Even after sleeping, he still feels tired.

His thoughts are so jumbled lately, that the dreams don’t stay for long, but neither does anything else. Everything feels like one long, never ending night, and he can’t seem to remember what he’s doing until it disappears again. It would be disconcerting, if the thought stayed.  
  


* * *

  
Certain things do stay.

Eddie’s childhood home was one of great contrasts and although he no longer remembers specifics, there’s still enough to shine through the cracks of his mind.

Simple things, really. The smell of his mother when he had his head in her lap. There was always a gentle combination of sweet raspberries and a warm scent of vanilla on her skin. In comparison his father -Eddie no longer remembers his face, just the rinds of dirt under his fingernails- smelled like motor oil and manure.

The storm drain where he used to play, no more than a wet hole in the recesses of his mind, and his bed where his father would use him for other kinds of games.

And more than anything the gentle lulling of his mother’s sewing machine, and the terror at the sound of his father’s beaten up truck coming up the driveway.

He wants more than this for his own children. He’ll protect them fiercely, he knows he will. Nothing would ever happen to them. And although he’s not entirely sure what lurks in the shadows of his mind, if they are nightmares or truths, he knows he’d never let it hurt his children. Never.

And never will his darling suffer like his mother, hurt by insolent whores that don’t know their place. No, he’ll make damn sure of that.

Other thoughts stays as well, and they are more immediate. Like how whores and deviants are being poured down into his domain like sewage. He told the creature upstairs to find him a bride, not this endless parade of filth and corruption. Still, he knows his gem is somewhere among them, so he can’t give up. Not yet. The thought of finding his darling, the one who’ll finally hold him together keeps him moving forward.

He wonders if he’s been down here forever, because he knows each hallway, each junction and each room like the back of his hand. It’s the only thing he knows for sure. When he hears a creak or a whimper, he knows exactly where it’s coming from.

There’s a sound now, and he follows it. They are quiet, but definitely there; soft footsteps and even softer breaths, occasionally hitching a little in fear or anticipation.

Thing is, he’s made sure once she’s down here, she’ll have no choice but taking the route he wants her to take. Once she is down here, he’s the man of the house, so to speak. He’ll take care of her, hold her close and treat her like one ought to treat a lady. He squares his shoulders and takes a deep breath. That’s right. This is what he was doing. This is what he was doing all along.

There’s a soft gasp when his darling sees his display, and he counts her hurried footsteps as she enters the following rooms. Once she’s in the right room, the room with the door he so playfully shut earlier, he walks over to the glass.

She hasn’t seen him yet. She’s trying to open the door, and he leans into the glass with a wide grin stretching across his face. He puts his fingers against the cool glass, curling them into claws as he studies her.

Ah, yes, she’ll do just fine.

She’s wearing one of those ghastly patient uniforms, but he can’t fault her for that. He remembers how insistent they were at him wearing them as well, but she lacks the strength necessary to fight it. Once she’s his though, he’ll make new clothes for her, ones that will fit her frame better. Her face is beautiful, with beautiful bone structure, although her hair is too short, and in the wrong shade of blonde. Maybe they cut it. Eddie has heard of people doing such things to ladies as punishment, but what such an angel could ever do wrong, he isn’t sure.

Now, somewhere deep inside, Eddie knows that first impressions are everything, but he can’t stop his excited cry of “Darling!” from passing through his scarred lips. She looks up at him then, gaze wide and frightened, and he knows he’s made a grave mistake. She looks absolutely terrified, and he knows from experience that it’s hard to tie down scared little girls.

But more than that, something- His smile falters. He’s seen her before, somewhere else. Somewhere uncomfortable and scratchy, and that pain strikes like lightning through his head. He’s seen her face before; terrified like now, but distant, unable or perhaps unwilling to help him.

He doesn’t know how, but he’s already left the door with her on the other side, circling around so he can greet her properly. He’s tries to mend the situation with a quick apology, but she doesn’t answer him, nothing around but the deafening silence. But it’s okay, Eddie can wait. He’s good at waiting.

“We’ve met before, haven’t we?” Eddie keeps his voice light and peaceful. “I know I’ve seen your face.” He thinks he can hear a squeak somewhere, and raspy, frenzied breathing. He really must have frightened her. His heart sinks, but he keeps talking. “Maybe… Just before I woke up?” he offers, tilting his head, but this time there isn’t a single sound. “Though it seems like a dream now, being here with you.” There. Women love feeling special. Eddie smooths over his shirt.

First impressions, first impressions.  
  


* * *

  
“You _whore_!”

Eddie roars like an animal in the desolate hallways, following her bloody footprints. He can’t really say if he’s more angry or hurt by the fact that she’d rather break her legs than be with him, but all he wants is to catch up to her and teach her what happens to disobedient girls.

All he wanted was for her to love him, and yet she came home with _filth_ on her face, proof that she’s been with someone else.

It seems inconceivable, how she’d betray him, after everything he’s done for her.

“You ungrateful _slut_!” Eddie shrieks, and follows her as she darts through the hallways. Even with a bleeding ankle she’s fast, but Eddie’s planned ahead. There’s no way she’s gonna get away from him now, not until he’s punished her properly.  
  


* * *

  
The scenery shifts.

Perhaps it’s just the turning of the day, or the glass of scotch he had coming home from work. Either way, the woman in his arms doesn’t look right. He could have sworn her hair was blonde, but this one has no hair at all, just scabs and naked skin and it makes his skin crawl. It’s all wrong, her jaw littered with stubble and her nose broken more than once.

“You get away from me!” she yells, and her voice is all wrong too. Not soft and clear, but deep and gruff. “You fucking psycho!”

Eddie feels bile rise in his throat at her vulgar screeching, and he makes short process of putting the diseased bitch to sleep. This one would have had no hope of being right, not even if he tried to recreate her beauty. He’d have to carve into the very depths of her soul to make her right.

With a tired grunt he pushes the leftovers into the pile in the corner. He’ll have to teach her manners soon, teach her the importance of having a clean and tidy house. It’s only right that his kids grow up the way a child ought to be raised. Good, old-fashioned ideals with food on the table when they return home from school.

Eddie will make sure of it.  
  


* * *

  
Things move again. Memory shifts and creaks and for a few moments he remembers.

Because he’s seen this one before. He remembers, because this one is special. She’s the one with the beautiful skin and bones. Yes, he remembers her, even if he can’t remember why he remembers.

Eddie stands over her, looking at the quiet rise and fall of her chest. He had to undress her. He argues that it’s because he needs to see what he’s doing, but parts of him wonders if it isn’t just the fact that he likes to _look_. He strokes a callused hand up her ankle. Her skin is soft like his mother’s, but covered in a fine layer of hair. Eddie furrows his brows. Well, he supposed he can’t fault her for that either, they’ve been locked in her for a while after all. After the operation he’ll either need to find more disposable razors, or sharpen his knife again to shave her.

Many of the whores down here have been ugly from the start, but this one really is beautiful. He leans closer to her face to study her more intently. That familiar and, oh so, beautiful bone structure; High cheekbones and a straight nose, and a jaw that’s perhaps too strong for a lady, but Eddie thinks it just gives her face character. With careful fingers he pulls open one of her eyelids, and looks at the pupil within. It stares blindly right through him into nothing, pupil dilated until there’s just a faint ring of silver around it, like a new moon. He hums to himself, but stops when he realizes how bloodshot her eyes are. Maybe his poor, darling girl hasn’t slept right since the accident. He clicks his tongue and moves his hands away. It hurts him, the way she doesn’t see him, and he can’t wait for her to wake up so she can. But for now he’ll let her sleep.

He climbs on top of her, his powerful thighs straddling her hips. He loves the feeling of power. Loves knowing that she couldn’t hide from him. Even in a field full of crops, he’d still be able to sniff her out.

He leans down and nuzzles her neck. He can’t help himself. She smells- Well, not exactly clean, but clean enough, that vague smell of soap that clings to the skin. He nips at the flesh there, and she groans weakly in her half-daze.

The sound of it has something swell in his chest, as well as other parts of his anatomy, and he grinds his cock against her hip. She’s skinny now, but he’ll fill her up in more ways than one. He’ll have her round with his child and satisfied with the love he’ll shower them both with.

Yet another kiss and a lick to her neck, and she squirms a little against his hold.

“Wha-” she whispers, and Eddie’s heart swells further.

“Sh-sh-shhh, darling, you’re safe now,” Eddie murmurs, and comforts her when she tries to get up. “Don’t move, my sweet, you’re hurt.”

She’s so excited to see him, that her arms flail and she raises her voice to greet him. Eddie puts more of his weight on her and places a hand across her lips.

“Be quiet, you don’t want the children to hear, do you?”

Her eyes are wide in docile understanding, and although she doesn’t nod, Eddie knows she agrees. They’ll have to be quick though, because the kids -as much of a blessing as they are- still make it hard for them to be as intimate as two married people ought to be.

He keeps his hold on her mouth, but shifts so he can pull her legs apart with his free hand. She’s feisty, this one, and he presses her face down against the table with a grunt.

“You have to behave, darling,” he murmurs, but the words don’t seem to go through her thick skull. “Be a good girl-” he warns her. “-Or I’ll have to punish you again.”

That seems to get the point across, because she blinks rapidly a few times, before relaxing against his hold. He can still feel her pulse gallop wildly against his fingers, but for now she’s pliant under his hands.

“So soft,” he praises. “My beautiful girl.” He places a few wet kisses against her neck, breathing her in for a few moments more before moving his hand back between her legs.

He frowns when he does, something sickly and disgusting against his fingers.

“Vulgar,” he sneers, and this close he can almost see sweat starting to pool on her forehead. “You thought you could trick me?” He briefly considers carving her right then and there. Carve her into the woman he deserves, the women she deserves to be, but her eyes are open wide and wild, and she shakes her head back and forth as much as she’s able to beneath his grip. And even in her terror, she is beautiful.

“It’s okay, my love,” he purrs, pleasantly surprised by her cooperation. It’s a rare treat, beautiful really, compared to the angry whores so dead-set on fighting him at every turn. “I’ll make you beautiful.” Then, as an afterthought, he adds, “Again.” No point in purposefully hurting her feelings after all.

He moves his fingers further down, until he can prod gently at her opening. This earns him a knee to the groin that just barely misses, and he chuckles. “Forgive me, I’m being crude, aren’t I?”

And with that he replaces the hand over her mouth with his lips, and kisses her deeply. They’ve been together for so long that he almost forgot his manners. A girl takes longer to be properly aroused, he knows, and he takes his time, licking into her mouth as he moves his hands up to her breasts instead.

They’re small, practically non-existent, but her nipples seem to be deliciously sensitive, and she yelps against his lips. Eddie’s pleased with her reaction and leans down so he can trail his tongue gently across them. Even if they are too small now, that will be easy to fix later.

“Please,” she whispers. “Please. I’ll do anything, just please stop.”

“Anything?” Eddie smirks against her breast. “What a naughty little thing you are.” He looks up at her, but she has her face angled away from him. “Impatient, aren’t you?” he asks, but she doesn’t answer.

He starts working his way down her body, nipping at her skin as he moves closer to his goal. She’s whimpering now, her diaphragm spasming beneath his tongue. Just like on their wedding night. Eddie marvels at her perfect, unblemished skin, at her virginal squirms and nonsensical pleading.

He skips the ruined area between her legs completely, placing his mouth right at her opening instead, trailing his tongue in circles. She’s jolting now, gasping when he puts his tongue flat against her and licks her languidly.

His brain skips a little, first wondering how she can still be so tight despite the two sons she’s blessed him with, before he’s back on their wedding night, about to plant her seed in her like a proper man should.

Eddie doesn’t bother getting undressed, instead he just pulls himself out through his fly, giving himself a few strokes while carefully gauging her reaction. Her eyes are wide, mouth opening and closing without a word.

It’s a nice reaction, Eddie thinks. Not just like she’s impressed by what she’s seeing, but that it’s her first time seeing it. Very different from the hungry whores who begged for it, with wet, gaping mouths.

But when as he lines himself up and sinks into her, the world shifts and tilts on its axis. For a moment it’s like he’s watching himself from the outside. And for a moment it’s not the two of them on their honeymoon, but two filthy men on a bloody table, surrounded by corpses. How did they get here? Eddie shakes his head, and focuses on the face beneath him.

He’s seen this man before, seen the dirty blonde hair and wide-set eyes, and in a brief moment of clarity he remembers that this man allowed the doctors to put him in that dark place, alone with his father, without any means of escape.

Then the world hitches again, and her face is transformed back to that familiar face he adores.

“Beautiful,” Eddie says, but the word feels like it’s stuck in his throat. “Beautiful,” he says again, to comfort himself.

She went very quiet when he penetrated her, and he sees wet trails of tears down the sides of her face. Perhaps he was a bit too rough with her.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie groans and places a few scattered kisses across her face. “I just had to feel you. I had to feel you, baby.”

_Baby, I had to feel you. Don’t cry, shhh, don’t let your mother hear you._

He’s more careful when he moves in her, and she really is tight, almost uncomfortably so. Definitely a virgin, judging by the look on her face. There’s a skip in time again, and he’s reminded of a different face, so long ago, of snow on long lashes and the softness of supple leather.

A thought occurs to Eddie. “Did you find your sister that night?”

She doesn’t respond, just looks at him like he’s not only hurting her, but like he’s gone insane. And perhaps she’s right, it’s not right to speak of other women during love-making, not even if she’s family.

“You’re right,” Eddie murmurs, and pulls out before sinking back in. “This night is all about you.”

Her lips splits in a smile, then, a short burst of laughter escaping before she sobs. Eddie keeps fucking her, each fierce snap of his hips prompting another sob.

“Don’t cry,” Eddie sneers. “You know I can’t stand your sniveling while I’m doing this.” And he really can’t. It’s hard trying to keep his focus on what’s pure, when her face is turning flustered for all the wrong reasons.

“Quiet, boy!” Eddie barks when she continues hiccuping and crying. “Didn’t your mom teach you any manners?”

At last, that shuts her up, and she stares up at Eddie’s face with something strange in her gaze. Something judgemental. Eddie tries to look away. It’s not like he can help it. They made him what he is. He wasn’t supposed to be like this. So much potential. Eddie’s breath hitches a little.

_Eddie’s an intelligent boy, Mrs. Gluskin. He just isn’t applying himself enough._

Images of a classroom flashes before his eyes. His mother, with her hands in her lap and her ankles crossed at the ankle. It was important that they looked good from the outside, no matter how rotted the foundation was. She would tend to their clothes and scrub the floors, and no one would ever be able to tell.

_Is something the matter, Eddie? Darling, you can tell me._

No, he couldn’t. There’s another flash, and Eddie flinches. It’s like lightning, like a bright flash from a camera. His uncle holding him from behind so his father has free access to-

He’s- Eddie pinches his eyes shut. What is he doing? He’s validating everything they ever did to him, and he can feel himself going soft as he pulls away with a gag.

That- That man is still tied to the table, but he’s no longer crying, instead he just stares at Eddie. Not a word, just a look filled with something Eddie can’t name. Or perhaps he’s just afraid to identify what they are, should he be compared to his father.

Luckily the thought ends there, because someone appears from behind. In hindsight Eddie should have known, because his darling saw the attacker. He saw her eyes widen in alarm. Poor, sweet girl tried to warn him, but Eddie was too slow.

A strong fist slugs him from behind, and even when Eddie turns and grabs the whore’s neck, she still has it in her to hit him over his head. It’s powerful enough to have Eddie’s on his knees, and he briefly wonders what the whores have been feeding on, to make them this strong. Maybe they are feeding on each other, because he keeps his food locked up.

“Come back here! You’re not done dying!” Eddie shouts as he pursues his attacker. A criminal willing to hurt him during the holiest of rituals is not someone he wants around his wife and children.

_Whore, whore, whore, whore!_

She might be strong, but she’s not that fast, and he catches her easily enough.

Eddie’s an animal by this point, teeth bared as he digs his fingers into her flesh.

“You whore,” he roars, grabbing her ankle and yanking her closer when she kicks and tries to get away. “You’re a disappointment, boy! Too dimwitted to ever amount to anything!”

He straddles the whore, forcing her flailing limbs under his knees so he can hold her still.

“You’re not even worth _fucking_ ,” he spits, and puts his strong hands around her neck.

She’s ugly. He doesn’t know how he could ever have seen potential in her, because she’s fat and ugly, inside and out, her face scabbed and disgusting. She's a far cry from the beauty Eddie has left on his table, hair pulled out in tufts and missing most of her front teeth.

“You’re a bloated pig!” Eddie shouts, digging his fingers into the wiry flesh of her neck. “You deserve this. You deserve everything I do to you. I gave life to you, and I’ll snuff it out just as easily!”

There’s a pitiful sound coming from her lips, something between a wail and a plea, but crackling like pigskin over an open flame. Eddie doesn’t ease the pressure against her windpipe, not even when blood starts gushing out her nose. It’s disgusting. A fitting end for her, he supposes, but he still wipes his bloody hands against her shirt when he’s done.  
  


* * *

  
She’s not there when he returns.

Eddie can’t say he’s surprised, but it doesn’t stop the pain radiating from his chest at the sight of their empty bed.

It doesn’t matter if she left by her own will or not, because she’s still gone. Eddie kicks a nearby chair, but even as it’s reduced to firewood he doesn’t feel any better.

“Why do you all want to leave me?!” Eddie roars, and his voice cracks at the end. “I have no one! She was all I had!”

He knows something is wrong the moment the words escape his lips. He said too much, too fast, too soon, and memories stands flooding in like a tidal wave.

And there it is. That thing he’s been trying to forget; Pale skin riddled with ugly, purple marks, blood crusted on cooling limbs. Her stockings -the ones he used to stroke so reverently- ripped off to use as a makeshift garrote. He remembers the screaming and how he thought it was his father until he realized it was his own.

That was the moment he cracked. That was the moment that voice in the back of his head was born, the void, the need. In that moment he truly lost everything.  
  


* * *

  
There were rituals. He knows that much. Rituals to ensure he felt the right way, or perhaps to ensure he didn’t feel at all. He no longer remembers how he decided on keeping a lock of their hair, or why he glued them to the pages of his family album, in the spaces where he’d already torn out any photograph containing his father, but that’s what he did.

They seemed like pressed flowers at first, beauty preserved between stiff pages, but when that itch returned they seemed more like string; Lifeless and dull in color.

Here’s the twist, though. It didn’t help. It hasn’t helped and it probably never would have.

And so he hunts after yet another person he can cut and mangle, someone to love. Sometimes it’s one and the same in Eddie’s mind. Someone that will beg for him to love them. Someone to show him he isn’t as helpless as he once was.

The special one, the one with the pretty skin and gimp leg, has disappointed him for the very last time. It’s a shame, it really is, but he can’t afford to let his children grow up with a whore for a mother. Whores always leave you in the end, and Eddie can’t have that happen.

The rope is dark against her skin, like the stockings so long ago, and if Eddie stopped for a moment to think, then maybe he’d know why the thought has him queasy.

Instead he starts hoisting her up to join all the others. It’s not quite a photo album, instead it’s a damp sewer, a rotting cornfield, a bed sticky with blood and sweat.

She fights it, of course she does, because the will to live, to survive, is strong in anything living, whether it’s a human being or bacteria. You don’t even have to be sentient to fight. The bloated bodies hanging up there is a testament to that.

In fact, she’s a bit too determined to live, because the wood starts creaking dangerously under her weight - _fat cow_ \- when she swings her legs in an effort to break free.

He’s not sure how it happens, but something goes wrong. The pulley wasn’t strong enough, perhaps, but it no longer matters. There’s a sound of rope extending, and then Eddie’s hauled into the air. He feels disoriented, until something anchors him with a thud.

Eddie gasps, droplets of blood escaping his mouth like a fine mist. The pain doesn’t register right away, and for a surreal moment nothing makes sense. Then he understands what’s happened. He wants to cradle his stomach, where the pain is blooming like a flower, but he changes his mind.

Because his darling is still hanging, but she’s still alive.

Eddie groans, and with the last of his strength he reaches for her hand. All the warmth in his body must be dripping out of his belly along with his blood, because when his hands clenches hers, her fingers feels like fire in his.

Wide eyes in a face frozen with fear meets his, and something finally clicks.

And in that moment, the moment that stretches like an eternity in Eddie’s mind, he truly sees who he’s holding. More than that, his brain clears and he understands everything. He understands the dream, he understands the corn field, the locks of hair and his desperate hunt for love or redemption. He finally understands the anger.

“We could have been-” Eddie pauses, wondering if the man will be able to catch what Eddie’s trying to say. “- beautiful.”

And with that Eddie lets go, releasing him at last. He’s letting them all go, if only in symbolism, and he watches as the young man from before fall to the ground. He doesn’t leave right away, like Eddie expects him to, instead he stands underneath him with his face angled to Eddie’s. And what a gift it is. Eddie blinks a few times before he stops fighting it.

At least now he’s not dying alone, like he always feared he would.

He opens his mouth to say thank you, but he finds he can no longer speak and when the lights starts dimming around the corners Eddie knows what’s happening. But this time he’s not afraid.

Dying isn’t so bad. The pain has finally ended, for both Eddie and his victims. And finally, the voice in the back of his mind has quieted down, nothing there but soft memories of his mother and all that could have been.

The world has all but disappeared, but Eddie thinks he can still see shapes and shadows, until the rope slips from his limbs, and he falls into complete darkness. His hands tries to grab ahold of something, to slow him down, but nothing is there.

There’s an eternity of that, an eternity in a single second, until, yet again, something anchors him. Somewhere warm, smelling vaguely of vanilla and sweet raspberry, with the comforting crackle of a record player.

“I got you,” someone whispers, and he feels a hand stroking the top of his head. “Shhh, I got you, my darling.”

He can scarcely believe his ears, can scarcely believe it when he feels small fingers curling at the base of his skull. And despite his massive size and cruel inflictions, Eddie breaks down in violent sobs, burrowing his face in his mother’s lap.

“It’s okay, my sweet,” she whispers, and intertwines her fingers in his hair. “He’s not gonna hurt you anymore, darling.”

And that relief, that sweet, sweet relief, is almost enough to make Eddie sing with elation. She’s there. She’s with him now. At long last, he won’t have to be alone anymore.

He’s finally reached her.


End file.
